Author's Note: Hmmm...this chapter feels peculiar to me. Thoughts are appreciated.

Allison's hand rested on the doorknob, the feel of the metal familiar to her fingers. Another turn, a quarter of an inch to the right and she'd be back inside. Back inside her little haven of a cramped office where paint-by-numbers hung on the walls and the psychiatrist had taken to spilling coffee on printer paper for new designs since he ran out of new ink-blot cards three months ago.

She wasn't quite sure why she hadn't already flung the door wide open and flopped into her chair. It was, after all, very much her chair. Other than the occasional sniveling, just-dumped cheerleaders who sat there and used up all the tissues, Allison and the chair's relationship was pretty monogamous.

A smirk spread across her face and her hand gripped the knob tighter at the thought. That's exactly what I should do, she mused. Burst into the office and throw herself on the floor, gather the chair's legs in her arms and apologize fervently to them. Apologize to the chair for her treacherous behavior, cheating on her beloved chair with the brainless jock. What could she have been thinking? Would the chair ever forgive her? The smirk spread into a genuine, twisted smile. That's exactly what she should do. Oh the look on the shrink's face when she pulled this one…

She started to turn the doorknob once more, an eighth of an inch to the right. And stopped. She was still wearing "the brainless jock"'s sweater. Couldn't go in there like that. The psychiatrist might catch a whiff of normality.

Releasing the knob she backed away from the door and from the thought, turning back down the hallway. Lucky sweater, my ass.

--------------------

"Step."

Click.

"Step."

Click.

"Step."

Click.

"Ste-"

"You don't have to announce every single one, thank you very much. I can see them, you know," Claire snapped, her heels clicking as she and Bender made their way down the bleachers.

"Whatever you say, princess."

Click.

Click.

Click.

Clic-clickkckc. Claire stumbled slightly on a particularly oddly angled step, but steadied herself, clinging to Bender's hand. Slowly, the two began again.

"Step."

Click.

"Step."

--------------------

Brian continued to sit. And sit. Staring at his answers. He'd been the first to finish, but was as usual, the last to turn it in as he pored over each answer. Should he have elaborated on number six? What about number seven? Should he have written more? And then there was number twelve. The answer continued to allude him as the minutes ticked by on the obnoxiously loud clock hanging above the door. He looked up only as it swung open and Allison came sashaying into the class room, flashing her unsettling grin.

Concentrate, he told himself, concentrate. Number twelve…aberrant…aberrant… As Allison passed, she went cross-eyed and stuck her tongue out at him. Aberrant! Brian's pencil scurried across the page with new found energy. Aberrant -- abnormal, unusual, atypical…

As Brian scrawled out his answer, Adam Sherwin watched as Andy followed Allison's every mood intently with his eyes, swiveling in his chair to watch her path and continuing to stare even when she'd taken a seat.

For the first time in their lives, and very likely, for the only time in their lives, the exact same thought streamed across both Brian and Adam's mind at the same time, Brian's as he finished his test and Adam's as he watched Andy…

weird.

--------------------

The bell finally rang, ending sixth block, and the usual hustle of high school started up once more, people filing in and out of the hallway, from classroom to classroom. As the rest hurried out, Brian, Andy and Allison lingered behind. Brian because his mother had just bought him a brand new pen set and it required careful disassembling and packing away before he could transport it to his next class; Andy because he was waiting to talk to Allison and Allison because she had become recently engrossed in the new elaborate doodle she was carving into her back corner desk.

She looked up as Andy made his way over.

"Don't ask me what I did to my hair," she said before he could start.

"I wasn't going to," Andy said, taken back. "I…I think it looks nice."

Brian snickered in the background, but one death-glare from Allison and glower from Andy had him packing before he could finish snapping his pen set securely closed.

"I was going to ask where you went at lunch."

"I guess I got lost on the way to your fan-club meeting," Allison snapped, not sure why she was so upset with him. Grabbing her bag she left the classroom and headed down the hallway, only to hear his footsteps following her. He followed her all the way to her next class and even through the door as she found herself another seat in yet another corner and was about to tell him not to follow her anymore until she realized it was his next class, too. And as he took a seat next to her, there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

--------------------

That brief moment back in English, that fleeting shared second of thinking, had indeed been the only occasion Brian and Adam Sherwin's trains of thoughts ever traveled the same track. For now, in seventh block P.E., as Adam sporadically and "accidentally" smacked Brian in the face with his King Kong size hands during jumping-jacks, Adam's thoughts were these.

"Heh." Smack. Fun.

"Heh." Smack. Fun.

"Heh." Smack. Fun.

Brian's thoughts, surprisingly enough, were running in a completely opposite direction. And soon enough, after a particularly hearty "Heh." Smack. Fun. from Adam, Brian's nose began running along with his thoughts and the front of his P.E. uniform was spotted with blood.

"Johnson!" the gym teacher barked. "Bleachers! Now! Don't go bleeding all over the rest of us."

Trudging over to the side, Brian climbed a few stairs and stationed himself there, tipping his head back and holding his nose until a noise beneath the bleachers drew his attention. Peaking down between the seats, he could see rustling beneath. Leaning down closer, a hand reached up to flick him in the ear.

"Hey!" Brian cried.

"This ain't a peep show, geek," Bender grunted at him. "What're you doing up there anyway."

"Sensitive nostrils," Brian mumbled.

"Whatever, kid. Take this show on the road, will you?"

"Sure thing, Bender," Brian agreed, but not before trying to peak around to see just who it was Bender had under there.

"Hey," Bender snarled. "I meant it. Beat it, Bri." With that, Brian sauntered off, still holding his nose, to the far side of the bleachers.

"So what do you think?" Bender asked. "Am I still such a bad prince? Case in point: me, just fervently defending your honor from intruders?"

"No," Claire said pulling him to her,"Maybe you're not so bad after all."